His Cure
by cr8vgrl
Summary: Insomnia is a drug, but so is the memory of one night in the tent that changed their lives.  See how Harry and Hermione handle that night after the War is over.  COMPLETE!


**A/N: Hello everyone! I know that this is a new oneshot, but this was a request from a friend whose birthday is today, so Happy Birthday Mr. Mark Harris!**

**For everyone else, please be nice. I've never written a Harry/Hermione story before, so I tried my hardest to keep them relatively in character! :P**

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Insomnia was more than a sleeping disorder; it was a disease.

It fed on the mind, twisting and clawing it into full wakefulness, even when the rest of the body cried out for sleep, for mercy, for an end to the world as it had become.

Harry rolled over angrily, getting his legs caught in the sheets that were now covered with sweat. He folded his arms under his head and stared at the ceiling, refusing to try counting the tiny little cracks in it like he had last night, and the night before. There were 394 of them.

The war had only ended last week. Seven days since he had defeated Voldemort once and for all, and had lost so many people dear to him. Seven days since he had felt life leave him, only to return once more before it actually left. His sacrifice still haunted him in some ways, and the time that he had spent with Dumbledore once more was still fresh in his mind. He closed his eyes and immediately saw the same images that kept rushing back each time. The flashes of light, the bodies falling, the screams of the broken and the families they left behind…everything.

He threw the covers off his body and rolled out of bed, abolishing the idea of falling asleep. It never worked, and yet, he continued to doggedly try. His eyes felt gritty and painfully sore, but they protested even more when he tried to close them, so he padded softly downstairs and made his way into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. As the hot tea seared his throat, Harry closed his eyes and sighed once more.

It felt like it had been years since the war, and Harry reasoned that in the early hours of the morning, when the world was still and silent, it seemed like it had been even longer. So many people had been lost, so many lives disturbed and torn apart in a matter of hours. And for what? A broken society that would take years to rebuild? Nightmares that would never fully disappear? Hearts that had been broken and scared, and would _never_ fully heal?

Or maybe some quagmire of all three.

As he stared at the tea grounds at the bottom of the cup, Harry heard a slight rustling upstairs and his fingers tightened infinitesimally around his cup when his mind immediately provided a name to the sound. Before he could stop himself, Harry pushed himself away from the counter and poured his forgotten tea into the sink, pushing his shoulders back and heading the way he had come. He took the stairs two at a time and only needed to pass by two doors before he found the one he was looking for. Cautiously, so as not to disturb the other insomniac within, he pushed the door open and leaned against the doorframe so that he could observe her progress.

_Hermione,_ his mind whispered.

She was bending over her trunk, moving clothes around and trying to pack them into crevices between her books, and muttering when they didn't fit according to her preconceived plans. She flicked her wand anxiously and the pairs of socks on the bed organized themselves according color and style before trying to cram themselves into the already-overstuffed trunk.

"Need a hand?" Harry asked calmly.

He knew that he had startled her by the way she jumped and her well-organized socks exploded all over the floor…or maybe it was the way her hand shook against her wand as she fiddled nervously with the wooden grip. "You startled me," she said, overstating the obvious. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Usual insomnia," Harry said softly. "Going somewhere?"

Hermione bit her lip before nodding. "Australia. I'm going to go pick up my parents. Kingsley seems to think it's safe now." She gathered her socks once more and sighed softly. "Wendell and Monica Wilkins' time is over."

She was studiously avoiding his gaze, and Harry pushed himself away from the doorframe. "Are you coming back soon?" He watched Hermione swallow before she spoke, still trying to pack her trunk and refusing to look at him.

"Don't know. Maybe I'll stay a while. You know, to let them acclimate to becoming my parents again. I certainly can't just bring them back to England immediately."

Harry pressed his lips together. "But will you _try_ to come back as soon as possible?" She looked up for a moment, and Harry couldn't help but jab at her and spit out, "For Ron, of course."

The hurt that flashed momentarily in her eyes was chastisement enough and Harry immediately regretted it, but the damage was done. Hermione had already turned away and was reaching for another jumper. "Probably," she said icily. "For Ron."

Harry's fists clenched and he couldn't seem to stop his legs as they crossed the small room in three long strides. He grabbed Hermione's arm and spun her around, his Quidditch reflexes coming in handy when her arms came up, trying to push him away. "Is it really only for Ron?" he asked. His tone was so calm and so low that Hermione shivered, well aware that he was upset.

She tried to step back and found herself pressed against the wall by her bed. "Yes." Her voice was quiet and small, a glimpse of the girl she had once been, and she saw something in Harry's eyes flash at that one, single-syllable word. She felt the rush of angry magic a moment before it pinned her tightly the wall, and winced as the wall dug into her shoulder blade.

Harry matched her step, not realizing that it was because of him that she would not be able to move, even if she wanted to, and placed one hand on either side of her head. He was invading her space, and he knew that if there was anything that made Hermione Granger more uncomfortable than not knowing the answer to something, it was the threat of someone getting too close when they were not wanted.

And after Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry couldn't really blame her.

Yet, that didn't stop him from using the few inches he had grown recently to tower over her and ask, "Truly?"

She tried to turn her head away, to stop looking at his piercing emerald eyes, but she couldn't. Instead, Hermione closed her eyes momentarily and then choked out, "You _know_ that's all I can come back for."

"Why!" Harry cried.

"You know why!" She opened her eyes and Harry could see the tears that were beginning to form in them, but she met his gaze challengingly, and he allowed himself to be completely swept away by the memory of the day their lives changed….

_She looked so sad, so forlorn and heartbroken, that Harry had to do something. For as long as he could remember, Hermione had always had good posture, but now, she was slumped dejectedly, uncaring about her spinal alignment when her friends and family were dying. He needed to do something for her. He needed to do something for the young woman that had given up almost everything for him._

_The music playing from the radio was old swing music, something that his grandparents had probably listened to, but it was upbeat enough for Harry to see why Hermione was playing it in their dilapidated tent. He crossed the room and placed a hand on her shoulder, waiting until wearily she turned around so that he could offer his hand to her._

_She took it sadly and let him lead her into the middle of the tent. His arms closed around her as they swayed to the music and he rested his head on the top of her head, hearing her sigh and press closer. He understood that they both felt the weight of not only the locket, but also the loss of Ron. And yet, he couldn't help breathing in deeply, acutely aware of the perfume that Hermione wore and the way her hair got tangled underneath his nose._

_The music came to an end, but Harry couldn't let her go. When Hermione tried to pull away, he pulled her back, attempting to lower his chin back down to the softness of her curls, but as he lowered his head, she raised hers and their lips met. They both gasped, but neither could find the will to pull away. Instead, Harry found himself pulling Hermione closer, tighter, and she never once resisted._

But now, as he stood inches from her face once more, Harry remembered her curt reply the next morning that no matter what she felt for him, and had felt since she had met him, she was destined for Ron and there was no reason to continue on with anything more than friendship.

That was, in Harry's mind, the diplomatic approach to telling him that it could never mean anything.

Now, he realized that it was so much more than that. "You're scared," he said, surprise lacing his voice as he stared down at her.

Hermione's chin jutted out a little, and Harry tried to ignore the way that it brought her lips a little closer to his. "No I'm not," she responded stubbornly.

"Yes you are. Ron's safe. He's someone that will always defer to you because you've always been right." Harry let out a puff of air that could have possibly passed for a laugh under any other circumstances. "I never thought I'd say this, Mione, but I _scare_ you because I'm not in the plan for your life. I'm too unpredictable."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Hermione growled at him, but Harry was past caring about her bite. For once, he saw clearly through the big-girl façade she held as her shield, and in a rare moment of clarity, he understood. "You don't have to be scared of what people will say. Ron will get over it. Everyone will understand. Hermione, you deserve to be happy more than anyone else." He moved one hand to stroke over her cheek. "So be happy with me."

She almost said yes. She almost agreed. He could feel her entire body starting to move toward him, the magic having abated with his anger, but at the last moment, she pushed herself back and turned her head away. "I can't." She pushed against his chest, and this time, Harry let her go. "Please, Harry, I have to finish packing."

He didn't say anything. He just pushed his glasses back up on his nose and turned away from her, only stopping when he reached the doorway. "You 'can't' because you won't let yourself. Don't think I'm too dumb to realize that you're not just going to get your parents; you're running away." He paused momentarily to push the lump that was forming in his throat as far down as he could manage. "I love you. Maybe someday you'll be able to get over that."

"Har-"

"Goodbye Hermione," he said softly. "Enjoy your trip."

And then he was gone, resolving to fight his insomnia in his own room. He never saw Hermione abandon her packing to pull a sheet of well-worn paper out of her desk….

The next thing Harry knew, it was morning, and Hermione was gone.

* * *

Australia was beautiful, there was no denying that, but Hermione ignored the scenery in favor of staring at the house in front of her. They were there, inside somewhere, with no recollection of her. Like she always did, she began to second-guess her decision to bring them back. Was she being too selfish? Was it truly in their best interest to live in ignorance?

She would never know, because both of her parents came outside then, obviously on their way somewhere, and Hermione raised her wand before she had another chance to think.

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The writing was so neat, so evenly spaced, and so perfectly…Hermione. Harry gently dislodged the note from the front of his door and smoothed the parchment out and began to read.

_Dear Harry,_

_You can't know how hard this is for me to write. Tonight was better than any dream I could have ever had. The dance, the kiss…it was wonderful. I've loved you for years, and tonight was the first night that I had any indication of your affections. But, even as cliché as this sounds, I can't be with you. Everyone expects me to be with Ron, and I really don't know what I would do if I didn't live up to their expectations._

_After tonight, I can't talk to you about this again, but I want you to know that I love you, and that I will always love you. You're my world, Harry James Potter. I will love you until I die, which will probably be sooner than I like. I hope you always remember that._

_ Yours Always and Forever,_

_ Hermione_

It was from the night in the tent. Harry pressed his hands to his face, the letter fluttering to his lap.

He needed to do something. Now.

* * *

Hermione couldn't get her mother to stop trying to dump the entire contents of her teapot down her throat. Finally, she stopped trying and slowed down her sips in between chunks of time that she was catching her parents up on. She tactfully skipped specifics about Harry, skirting around him when her father asked, but her mother seemed to understand.

"Darling," Mrs. Granger finally said. "Why don't you go upstairs and begin a little packing. I want to talk to Hermione for a moment."

Mr. Granger wisely didn't argue and squeezed Hermione's shoulder before he left the room.

Mrs. Granger poured herself another cup of tea and sat down across from her daughter. "Now, tell me everything about Harry."

Hermione took a sip of tea to cover her trembling fingers. "There's nothing to tell."

Mrs. Granger smiled sadly. "Oh, I think there is."

And so, Hermione told her everything.

Her mother had only one piece of advice, which she gladly gave her daughter before she went up to join her husband. "Don't let him slip out of your fingers just because of what the world might think. If you think that you two belong together, you should be together."

* * *

Hermione was tidying the kitchen in the front of the house while her parents finished their packing. A week had passed since she had first showed up in their garden, and now, almost the entire house was bare of personal belongings. She was just about to draw the curtains when she noticed someone else standing in the garden.

She nearly dropped the plate she was holding.

"_Harry_," she breathed.

He was walking toward the door. He was climbing up the steps. He was knocking, and she found herself moving to answer. And then she was in his arms, and he was holding onto her tightly, hugging her and grinning when she hugged him back just as hard. "Hi," he whispered, rubbing her back.

"You're right," she told him, pressing her cheek into his shirt. "I _was_ running away."

"I know." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But please, Mione, you can't run away from me again. Not after that note you left me."

Hermione smiled. "I seriously considered not leaving that for you."

"I'm glad you did," he told her honestly. "It showed me that I wasn't the only one that felt that way." He stroked her hair and heard her sigh softly into his shirt. "Will you come back with me? I haven't been able to sleep well without knowing that you're in the same house."

Hermione laughed and hugged his middle. "We can't live in the same house without a chaperone," she teased.

Harry grinned, and then smiled again when Mrs. Granger slipped back upstairs with a wide smile on her face. "Well then, Miss Hermione Granger, you just might have to marry me."

Hermione laughed again and nodded, shrieking when Harry swung her around. "What will everyone say?"

"They'll say that we're two crazy insomniacs that live under the same roof," Harry told her, a twinkle in his eyes.

"But at least we'll sleep better," Hermione added.

Harry leaned down and kissed her, and this time, neither one of them feared the consequences. Her arms found their way around his neck, and Harry found a sense of peace settle over his body. When they pulled away, Hermione's smile matched his own.

Harry could almost be grateful for his insomnia at the moment. Without it, he would never have dwelt on that night long enough to confront her so soon. He owed a lot to insomnia, and for the first time, he was no longer afraid of the dreams that would come when insomnia finally released its grip on him.

Why?

Because Hermione was his cure.

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**A/N: I hope it was alright! I promise to update the rest of my stories as soon as possible. Finals are now over, so I can focus on writing. YAY! Please review!**


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